


The Z-7 Affair

by pfrye23



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Some images of torture, Suicidal Thoughts, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfrye23/pseuds/pfrye23
Summary: For Section VII/Scrapbook2020 Halloween Challenge - based on a photo of a black rose with a blue eye in it.  Janto Jones - request  an Illya-centric, TV based, gen, hurt/comfort/angst story.
Relationships: Gen NS/Ik
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Mid September

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JantoJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/gifts).



The sun was shining and it was warm but with a cool crispness to the breeze that hinted at Autumn. Napoleon Solo felt good. He automatically smiled at each pretty woman he passed. Life was good. He and Illya had completed their last assignment and had been given a week off by Mr. Waverly. They had spent an unsuccessful, and for once an injury free, though exhausting, month in Europe. They had been following rumors of a new THRUSH drug “Z-7” that would wipe a person’s memory rendering them totally subservient, a zombie. Both he and Illya had finally been called back to New York by their boss. Mr. Waverly had decided that he no longer wanted to spend time and money on what he considered to be a wild goose chase. 

Napoleon had spent his weeks vacation at home enjoying the pleasure of working his way through several pages of his little black book. The only thing that had given him a moments pause had been his lack of contact with Illya. They usually spent one or two evenings together when they had several days off but he had not heard once from his partner. Illya had informed him that he had several scientific journals waiting in his apartment to catch up on. Napoleon could think of many things more exciting to do than spending an unexpected vacation reading. He hadn’t contacted his friend thinking that Illya had needed to spend his time in solitude, something his partner craved more than Napoleon. He missed the notoriously private Russian but wasn’t worried knowing he’d see him this morning at the office.

Skipping down the steps into the tailor’s shop Napoleon waved at the current “Del Floria” and stepped into the changing booth and turned the hook that opened the secret door into headquarters. Napoleon whistled under his breath as he pushed into the agent’s entrance of U.N.C.L.E. His whistle turned to a wolf whistle as he stepped up to the receptionist and smiled. “Jenny you are a sight for sore eyes my sweet.” he leaned down so the pretty redhead could pin his badge on his lapel.

“Oh Napoleon, keep that up and I may just have to say yes to you.”

“How about dancing and dinner?” Napoleon held his arms out and did a couple of dance steps.

Jenny laughed, accustomed to the agent’s constant flirting. “I think it best if you see what Mr. Waverly has in mind for you this week, don’t you? He wanted you and Mr. Kuryakin to report to his office as soon as you arrived.”

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I finish with the Old Man.” Blowing a kiss to her he started towards the elevator but turned before he got there, “Jenny, what time did Illya get here?”

“He hasn’t arrived yet Napoleon.”

As Napoleon entered the elevator he felt the first stirrings of unease. Illya always arrived before he did. He was as dependable as the rising of the sun.  
As Napoleon entered the reception area to Mr. Waverly’s office he nodded to Lisa Rogers, Waverly’s assistant. The lovely brunette nodded and waved him in. “You can go in now, he’s expecting you.”

Napoleon entered and stood before the large round table while His boss studied some papers, seemingly unaware of the agent’s presence. Without looking up Waverly nodded to the chair in front of Napoleon “Oh do sit down Mr. Solo.” He glanced up “Where is Mr. Kuryakin?”

Napoleon sat. “Reception indicated he hadn’t arrived yet Sir, which is unusual.”

Waverly raised an eyebrow, “Yes, it is unlike Mr. Kuryakin to be late.” He spoke into his intercom “Miss Rogers, please contact Mr. Kuryakin, remind him of this meeting please.”

“Right away sir.”

Napoleon tried to keep the feeling of unease from growing as time ticked on well past what it should have taken for a simple communicator call. Finally Lisa Rogers entered a look of concern on her face. “Mr. Waverly we can’t raise Mr. Kuryakin on the communicator. I had communications try to locate him but they were unable to triangulate a location. No one has had any contact with him since he left headquarters a week ago.” 

Napoleon stood, “I’ll go check his apartment sir. Maybe he overslept.” He knew that this was impossible. Illya was never late.

Mr. Waverly frowned, “You didn’t have any contact with your partner over the past week?”

“No sir” Napoleon knew he should have checked on Illya, he usually did even if it meant disturbing his solitary friend. He hadn’t this week, every time he thought about it something, or someone, had come up and he went on his dates and dinners, his partner far from his mind.

“Go and find your partner Mr. Solo, report back as soon as you have any information.”

Napoleon was already out the door.

Napoleon made it across town to the Village in record time, his unease growing with each moment. He ran up the four flights of stairs, once more wishing his partner would move to a better apartment with an elevator. Standing to the side of Illya’s door he took a deep breath, vowing to work out a bit more, and knocked. No answer. With his special in hand he reached out and turned the knob. The door, unlocked, swung open. He entered slowly scanning the quiet room. His breath caught as he surveyed the cluttered living room. Illya’s old coffee table was tipped on its side, several cartons of Chinese take-out littered the floor, their gelled contents cold and showing signs of mold. A bottle of Stoli lay broken by his suitcase. There was a large dried blood stain on the carpet next to his partner’s shoulder holster and gun.

“Open channel D. Mr. Waverly” 

While he waited Napoleon did a quick search of the rest of his partner’s small apartment, but saw nothing out of order.

“Yes, Mr. Solo?”

“I’m at Illya’s sir. He’s gone, it looks as if he was taken as soon as he got home.”

“An unfortunate turn of events Mr. Solo.”

“Sir, can you send some Section Three agents to interview Mr. Kuryakin’s neighbors and to go over his apartment. I’ll get out on the street and see if I can pick up a lead.”

“No Mr. Solo, return to headquarters immediately.”

“Sir, I need to find….”

Mr. Waverly interrupted. “Mr. Solo we won’t know where to even begin looking until we have more information, return to headquarters.”

“Yes, sir.” Napoleon grabbed Illya’s gun and holster and reluctantly left the apartment, locking the door behind him. “I’m sorry partner, I should have been here”. 

****************************************************************************

Illya woke to pain and confusion, he managed to get one eye open, his vision blurry. He was lying on the cement floor of his cell naked, shivering and alone. He tried to get his mind to focus. He’d been here five days maybe seven, he wasn’t really sure. He knew he had to try and escape again. He thought he had tried several times already. Obviously none of his attempts had been successful. He gasped as he tried to sit up. His battered, bloody and bruised body was not cooperating at all. He gave up on his attempt and lapsed into unconsciousness. Illya woke again, he wasn’t sure how long he had been out, he’d been fading in and out of awareness a lot lately. 

The last thing he remembered was returning to his apartment, anticipating a week off with his journals and his favorite take-out food. He had collapsed, exhausted on his second hand couch looking forward to his dinner from Chen’s and a bottle of ice cold Stoli. His next memory was coming awake, strung up by his wrists, naked, and being thoroughly beaten by a couple of very large THRUSH goons. He had no idea how he had gotten there. He thought back fondly on the cartons of Chinese food. He’d give anything for them, even if they were probably moldy by now. He had only been given a little water since he’d been here and he was feeling the weakness that comes from hunger. He was not sure how much longer he’d be able to hold out. Napoleon could come rescue him any time, he was ready to go. He knew as soon as he was free he’d face a prolonged stay in medical. Illya had a couple of broken or cracked ribs and possibly some internal damage. He knew the signs of concussion well enough to add that to the list. 

He was unable to hold back a groan as he heard the door to his cell creaking. The two large THRUSH goons whom he had come to dread entered along with Michael Santino the self proclaimed brains of this satrap. 

Santino grinned as he looked at the UNCLE agent “You’ve looked better Kuryakin! Not so tough now are you little man?”

Illya remained silent. The THRUSH didn’t seem to care if he talked or not. They hadn’t asked him any questions, not one, which bothered Illya. He knew in a perverse twist of logic that it was easier to withstand torture if you knew why you were being tortured.

Santino kicked the agent in his stomach which caused him to grunt and fade out once more. Santino laughed as he watched Illya struggle back to awareness. “I think we are about ready for the next step in my plan.” Illya was grabbed under his arms by the two guards and dragged from the cell.

“Come on comrade!” Illya felt a slap and then ice cold water splash his face. He struggled to raise his head. He licked the ice water from around his split lips, grateful for the moisture. He was strapped in a straight backed metal chair unable to move. Santino slapped his face again “You with me, Ruskie?” Illya nodded.

“Hey I thought you might like to know that your partner, Solo, finally discovered today that you were missing.” 

Illya tried to focus his attention on Santino. “What?” he croaked “Napoleon?”

“Yea,” Santino grinned, ”I thought you two were close, that you had each other’s backs. What kind of partner would let his friend stay in enemy hands for a week. Bet old Napoleon is feeling kind of guilty right about now. What do you think?”

Illya shook his head, “Not his fault.”

“Loyal to the last, huh Kuryakin? How noble of you. Well, I’m going to make sure that he won’t ever look for you, and that Napoleon Solo will no longer be a problem for anyone, ever again, especially me.”

Santino grabbed Illya’s face by the chin and placed a dirty rag in his mouth and taped over it with duct tape. “Stay with me Kuryakin, you hear? Watch, pay attention!”

Illya tried to focus and watch Santino. The room he was in was rather large with an area set up like a film studio. There were lights hung from the ceiling, a camera facing away from him and a microphone on a boom. The lights came on, blazing. Illya’s vision seemed to fade in and out as he watched Santino stand in the light, one of the goons manned the camera while another dragged in a semi conscious man and stood holding him in front of Santino. Illya noted that the injured man was about his height and weight. From the back it could have been him with shaggy blond hair, damp and stringy with sweat. The guard held the man by his under arms. Santino punched and kicked the Illya look alike, who grunted and moaned. Santino laughed gleefully “This is going to be great!”

Fearing what he thought was going to happen Illya found enough strength to throw himself against his restraints. He was unable to make any sound through the gag and he knew his efforts would not help at all but he still had to try.

Santino hit the man in the stomach and kicked him. The man cried out in pain. “Hey, Solo.” Santino looked at the camera grinning “I thought you’d love to have an opportunity to say goodbye to your partner. He’s been asking for you, wondering why you’ve abandoned him. I thought you two were great partners, tight, inseparable.” Taking a knife from his pocket he swiftly sliced across the man’s throat, blood spurted and the goon let the man fall to the floor. “You had a week to find him Solo, a week where he cried for you and cursed you. You were too slow. Now it doesn’t matter.” Santino laughed, obviously pleased. “Get rid of this garbage” he poked the body on the floor and signaled for the camera to be turned off.

Santino bent over and Illya watched as he grabbed his double’s hair and stuck the point of the blade into the corpse’s eye. Illya’s vision went dark as he fainted. The THRUSH walked over to Illya, taking a syringe out of his pocket he took the cap off and pressed the needle into the unconscious agents arm. “Two more injections of Z-7 Comrade and you won’t know up from down, left from right, let alone your name.” 

“Clean and patch up Kuryakin and stash him in a holding room. I’m going to get my package ready to send to Solo.”

***********************************************************************************

Napoleon was in his office, reluctantly going over the interviews the Section Three teams had taken from Illya’s neighbors. No one had seen or heard anything. It was a waste of time. Napoleon knew if he could just get out on the streets he’d be able to find some sort of lead. His luck and innate connection with his partner would lead him to something. He knew it would. The longer time passed without leads the less likely it was they would find Illya, he knew this but refused to let the thought stay in his mind.

The intercom on his phone blinked. “Solo.”

It was Lisa Rogers, her voice sounded strained. “Napoleon, please come to Mr. Waverly’s office, immediately.”

Napoleon ran for the door.

Lisa was standing waiting to shepherd him in as soon as he arrived. She followed Napoleon into the office,

Mr. Waverly was sitting holding his brier pipe staring out the window as Napoleon entered. On his desk was a large flower arrangement of black roses. Have a seat, Napoleon.” The old man using his first name made Napoleon’s stomach drop and he felt a chill flow over him as he sat. “These” Waverly pointed to the flowers with his pipe “and a film were delivered to Del Floria’s a few minutes ago. Mr. Kuryakin’s communicator was in the flower arrangement. The film, well….please play the film Miss Rogers.”

The lights dimmed, a wall opened to expose a screen. The film started.

A slim, dark complected man stood looking at the camera. He punched and kicked Illya whose back was toward the camera. He was being held by a large THRUSH guard. “Hey, Solo.” The man grinned into the camera “I thought you’d love to have an opportunity to say goodbye to your partner. He’s been asking for you, wondering why you’ve abandoned him. I thought you two were great partners, tight, inseparable.” Taking a knife from his pocket he swiftly sliced across Illya’s throat, blood gushed from the wound and he slid lifeless to the floor. “You had a week to find him Solo, a week where he cried for you and cursed you. You were too slow. Now it doesn’t matter.” The man laughed. “Get rid of this garbage” he kicked the body on the floor and signaled for the camera to be turned off. 

Napoleon was numb. He found it hard to breathe as the film came to an end. He turned to face his boss. Waverly’s face was pale. Napoleon couldn’t believe what he had just seen. “Sir….”

Mr. Waverly leaned forward suddenly and stared at the bouquet of black roses, “What the devil!” Napoleon and Lisa both grimaced as they saw a drop of blood slowly leak out of a bloom, its petals held closed by scotch tape. Napoleon reached forward and pried the tape off the bloom. Springing open it revealed a familiar blue eye, Illya’s eye placed into the center of the bloom. Napoleon faced with the proof that he didn’t want to accept grabbed his mouth and was sick.


	2. Late September

Napoleon couldn’t remember the last time he had a full nights sleep or a decent meal. He had been functioning on coffee, Scotch, and rage since his partner Illya Kuryakin had been murdered by the still unknown THRUSH. He knew Waverly and all the agents in his section were worried about him. Hell, everyone in headquarters was worried about him. He didn’t care. As long as Waverly let him pursue the bastard who killed Illya he was fine. 

Alexander Waverly was just as angry as Napoleon. He felt as if the THRUSH who had killed and mutilated his agent had broken a code of decency. He was letting Solo have free reign for the moment. He knew that if he did not he could lose Solo to grief. It was bad enough that they had lost the talents of Kuryakin, UNCLE couldn’t afford to lose both men.

The grief and anger filled CEA had declared open season on THRUSH. He and all of his agents had captured every THRUSH they could find. They had taken down a half dozen satraps and several labs. But he was still no closer to finding the one THRUSH he was looking for. None of the captured birds had sung. He was frustrated but wouldn’t give up.

Napoleon had a lead on a new lab and he was headed out to see if the information was correct. He didn’t want to pull agents off of what they were doing unless the lead was credible. Leaving headquarters he handed in his badge to Jenny at reception. The redhead sighed as Napoleon left without saying a word. He hadn’t been the same since poor Illya had been killed. All of the girls were worried.

Napoleon nodded to Del and left the tailor’s shop. He walked up the street to where he had parked his car. He heard the beep of a car horn and looked around. A taxi pulled up along side him and the door opened. He recognized Angelique La Chien, his favorite THRUSH. 

The curvaceous blond leaned out the taxi door, giving him a good view of her ample bosom. She smiled “Need a lift darling?”

Napoleon grimaced, “I doubt you are going where I am.”

“Oh, just get in, darling. We need to have a nice long talk and you look like you need to relax a bit.”

Napoleon snorted and slid into the taxi next to the dangerous blond. “I’m really not in the mood for anything Angelique. I’m busy.”

The taxi pulled away from the curb. Angelique turned towards Napoleon and quietly studied him. Napoleon stared straight ahead, ignoring her. He was dressed as normal, suave and stylish, but he had a grimness about him that was unusual. His eyes were haunted and had dark circles under them. This wasn’t the Napoleon that she knew and cared about. “Darling, have I done something wrong?”

Napoleon glared at her and snapped, “THRUSH has, you know that.”

Angelique reached forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Stop here please.” She slid out and Napoleon paid the driver and followed the blond as she   
entered a seedy bar. Napoleon stepped into the dark bar, alert to any danger. Angelique slid into a corner booth and patted the dirty seat next to her. Napoleon went to the bar and talked with the bartender, he returned a moment later with two brandies. He sat next to Angelique, sliding the brandy towards her. He took a long drink of his and stared at her. “Not your usual class of establishment.”

She smiled, raised and eyebrow and took a sip. “Alright Mon Cher, what is going on? Why have you changed the rules of the game? Why do I feel as if I have a target on my back whenever I go out?”

“You know.” 

“I don’t”

Napoleon reached into his suit, noticing how Angelique dropped her hand to her purse as he did so. He raised his other hand, and slowly slid out a photo and slapped it on the table for Angelique to take. She picked up the photo and looked at the grainy close up of a slender dark man. “Who is he?”

“You don’t know?” Napoleon growled. “He’s THRUSH, I want him and I’m going to take apart every satrap and every lab I discover. I’ll capture or kill every little bird I can find until I get him!”

“Why darling?”

Napoleon bit his lip and swiftly inhaled. “He killed Illya, he killed him and mutilated his body.”

Angelique gasped, reaching for Napoleon’s hand. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Napoleon jerked his hand away, “You didn’t know? I find that hard to believe, some THRUSH kills Illya Kuryakin and doesn’t brag about it?” Napoleon snorted. “You hated him, I know you aren’t sorry.”

“I haven’t heard anything.” Angelique replied. “I didn’t hate him, darling. It’s true I disliked your little Russian, but I never wished him ill, honestly. I know how much he meant to you, how he protected you. I’d not want to hurt you. May I keep this?” She held up the photo. 

“Sure, I’ve got more copies.”

“I’ll make you a deal Napoleon darling.”

“I’m listening.”

“Stop your rampage, give me a week. Go home, get some sleep, take care of yourself.”

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll get this” she waved the photo, “for you.”

Napoleon stared at Angelique. He knew she was his best bet right now. He had no leads on the THRUSH bastard, and while he didn’t trust Angelique he still felt she was, at the moment being honest. “All right, one week.”

She stood. Reaching over she caressed Napoleon’s face. “I meant what I said about taking care of yourself. You look like hell. I don’t like it.”

Napoleon glared at her “Maybe.”

Angelique sighed, “I’ll know if you don’t darling. If you won’t do it for me do it for Kuryakin, he wouldn’t want to see you like this.” She turned and walked out the door. Napoleon stared at her retreating figure. He tossed back his brandy and angrily signaled to the barkeeper for another.


	3. A Few Days Later

Michael Santino sat at his desk. He had his feet propped on the edge and was leaning back in his chair. Every few seconds he’d crumple up a sheet of paper and toss it overhand into the overflowing wastebasket in the corner. A loud knock sounded at his door. He quickly pulled his feet off the desk and sat up. “Yea, better be important. I’m busy!” he yelled.

One of his henchmen stuck his head in and said “Boss, there’s some fancy dame here from Central.”

“Oh shit, oh shit!.” Santino stood and smoothed down his jacket, “Alright, show her in.” The door was violently slammed open, the henchman jumping back. Angelique strode in. She was dressed in a tight black dress with a plunging neckline. She had a white mink stole draped about her shoulders. Santino gaped and swallowed nervously. 

“Mr. Santino, Angelique La Chien, Central.” She held out her hand. Santino rushed around the desk and shook her hand. He pulled a chair out for her. Ignoring him Angelique walked around the desk and sat in his chair. She opened her purse and took out a small pad of paper and pen. “Sit.” she commanded. He sat.

“You were part of the Z-7 team, correct?” Angelique jotted down a few notes in her notepad not looking at Santino as she talked.

“Why is Central checking up on me? Have I done something wrong?”

Angelique raised an eyebrow, and glanced at him, “Just answer. I don’t have all day.”

“Yea, I was one of the team supervisors. At least I was until we had to close up operations because of UNCLE. We split the information between us and dispersed to different locations.”

“And your portion of the information is what?”

“I have the original files and a few samples of the product.”

Angelique pursed her lips. She looked up finally staring at the frightened man, “Your orders I believe were to lay low, to be circumspect, not to draw attention to yourself...were they not Mr. Santino?” Angelique tapped her pen on the desk. “Have you been circumspect?”

Santino gulped, “I’m not sure what you mean by circumspect.”

“I heard a rumor that you killed an UNCLE agent, killed him and mutilated his body. Does the name Illya Kuryakin sound familiar?”

Santino jumped up. “Central should be congratulating me. It was Solo and Kuryakin that caused the Z-7 program to go into hiding. I solved the problem. I took care of the Russian and made sure that Solo would be out of commission.”

“Sit down!” Angelique snapped. Santino sat. “Pray tell little man, just how did you make sure Solo would be out of commission?”

“According to all the psychological profiles THRUSH has on Solo he’s very close to his partner. I made sure he knew that it was his fault Kuryakin was gone. He’s so wracked with guilt he’s harmless.”

Angelique laughed. “You poor deluded moron. Solo is anything but harmless. His partner’s death sent him on a vendetta. He and UNCLE have killed or captured close to a hundred operatives. He’s destroyed many operations and laboratories. All because you killed his partner. I’d say THRUSH’s loss is your fault.” 

“It should have worked!” Santino swallowed nervously. “It should have worked!”

“What do you think Central is going to do about this?” Angelique stood up and put her notepad back in her purse, reaching for the pistol she had hidden.

“I can fix it!” Santino yelled, “Seriously, I can fix everything!”

Angelique closed her purse, leaving her pistol untouched. “Just how can you fix it?”

“I’ll give him back Kuryakin.”

“What?” 

“He’s not dead. I still have him. I killed one of my own men who got wounded when we took Kuryakin. He looked a bit like him, blue eyes, same build and weight. We just put a blond wig on him and filmed him from the back to send to Solo.”

“He’s alive!?” Angelique bit her cheek to keep from smiling. “Show me, now!”

Santino led Angelique from his office down a flight of sitars into the basement. He walked along a dark hallway to a door. Opening the unguarded and unlocked door he ushered her into a small room. It was furnished with a single bed, a sink and a commode. Illya Kuryakin, bare foot, dressed in a dark blue and black plaid flannel shirt and jeans was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, arms around them. He was rocking back and forth. He had not reacted to their entrance.

Angelique bent over and peered into Illya’s face. His blond hair was longer than she’d ever seen it and he was unshaven his beard a darker hue than his hair. His blue eyes were vacant and staring. She snapped her fingers in front of his too pale face. There was no reaction at all. She looked over her shoulder at Santino. “Z-7?” she asked. Santino nodded. Angelique shook her head, “I doubt Solo would be glad to get his partner back in this condition.”

“We can give UNCLE the files with the antidote.”

“Give away the antidote? Why would we do that?”

“Well, Z-7 doesn’t exactly work.” Santino hurriedly explained. “I mean it appears as if his mind has been wiped. He’s like this most of the time. He doesn’t talk or move at all then something will trigger him and it’s like he’s having some sort of episode. He acts out something that’s in his mind...who knows what, or why. Anyway, Z-7 is a bust, useless. It just doesn’t work.”

“What do you mean by he has an episode or he acts out?”

“It’s hard to explain. I can’t predict when it will happen, or what causes it.” Santino sounded desperate. “So can we please just give him back to Solo along with the antidote formula? No harm no foul!”

Angelique sat down on the bed next to Illya. She reached out and turned his face towards her. “Are you in there?” Illya stopped rocking and suddenly lunged forward wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her bosom. Startled Angelique yelped as Illya clung to her. “Damn it!” Angelique cried as she tried to push Illya away. He clung even tighter to her and tried to climb into her lap. “Oh, damn.”

“That’s what I mean by acting out.” Santino chuckled.

“Alright, we’ll try giving him back to Solo. Go get the file with the antidote formula. I’ll try to convince Central that you didn’t mess up.”

“Oh God, thank you Miss La Chien.” Santino rushed out of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Angelique watched him leave. She tried to push Illya away again and noticed that her dress was wet. She lifted his head and saw that there were tears streaming down his face. She frowned, feeling uneasy. “Why are you crying? Stop it.” Illya buried his face again. “Oh hell.” she gently patted Illya’s hair “Everything will be okay. It’s okay, don’t cry.” She murmured. “If you ever tell anyone about this I’ll kill you myself.”

Seven year old Illya was terrified. The German soldiers had been patrolling the village. His mother, grandmother and he had hidden in the woods, staying as still and quiet as possible while the soldiers ransacked their dacha. His mother, dressed in black, her long blond hair braided and wrapped around her head held him in her lap while he silently cried. She patted his head while she whispered that all would be well. He clung tightly to her, his face buried in her bosom. 

********************************************************************************

Angelique left the building with Santino who had the Z-7 files. One of Santino’s guards brought Illya who had reverted to a zombie like state. Angelique slid into the back seat of her Cadillac. “Put Kuryakin in next to me.” Santino went to hand her the files. “Oh no, Mr. Santino you’re coming with me.” She grabbed the files “You and your man get in the front. I’ll tell you where to go.” He sat in the passenger’s seat in front of Angelique and the guard slid behind the driver’s wheel. They drove away into the dark.

As they drove Angelique studied Illya. Her brows furrowed as she contemplated the state that he was in. She didn’t like the little Russian but seeing him with tears running down his face had upset her for some reason. She knew Napoleon would be livid at his condition. 

Santino was laughing and joking with his guard in the front. He was giddy that he had escaped with his life. He had bested Central and all was good. The longer she sat listening to the moron the more angry she became. Impulsively, reaching into her purse she quickly drew her pistol. She pressed it against the back of the front seat and pulled the trigger. The blast from her pistol reverberated loudly in the car. Santino slammed forward hitting the dash. Startled the guard swerved the car and came to a sudden jarring halt near the curb. Angelique was tossed to the side hitting her head, dazed. Illya coming to life jerked open the door and tumbled out into the street. Jumping up, and still barefoot, he ran into a nearby dark alley and disappeared. 

Angelique climbed out of the car, holding a hand to her bleeding forehead, she peered down the alley. “Oh great.” She looked at the guard who was staring at her. “The boss is dead Lady, you want me to go after the UNCLE guy?”

“No. We’ll look for him later. I don’t want to get stopped with a body in the front seat. Let’s just go. You work for me now.” The guard shrugged his shoulders and got behind the wheel.


	4. The Next Morning

Napoleon walked toward the entrance of Del Floria’s. His walk quickened as he noticed Angelique leaning against the side of a red sports car. She smiled and stood as he approached. Angelique noted that Napoleon looked less tired. The dark circles under his eyes were gone. He wasn’t back to normal, there was still a grim expression on his face but he was certainly better than he had been.

“You look much better darling.” She took a slip of paper and handed it to the agent. Napoleon looked at the paper, it had an address on it that was in an industrial area of the city. 

“Is this where he is?”

“In a manner of speaking. His body is in a car stored in a warehouse.”

“Body! He’s dead?” Napoleon’s face became red as his anger grew. “I wanted him alive Angelique!”

Angelique brushed back platinum hair from her forehead. Napoleon saw a large bruise and a line of stitches. “He was being difficult. I had no choice. At least you have him.”

Napoleon took a deep breath and calmed down. “I’m sorry, I’ve been looking forward to facing him.”

“I know darling. I really do understand. His name was Michael Santino, he was one of the supervisors of the Z-7 program.”

Napoleon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “We weren’t sure that program was even real.”

“Oh yes, definitely real and as compensation for my depriving you of Mr. Santino’s company I left the Z-7 files he had in the car with his body. They contain the formula, research notes and a formula for the antidote.”

“Why would you do that?”

“He irritated me and I had to get stitches.” Angelique pouted, “I may even end up with a scar.”

Napoleon laughed and leaned forward and kissed Angelique on her forehead. “You will always be a stunning vision to me.” Angelique smiled at him. “Angelique, thank you, from me,” he paused “and from Illya too.” 

Angelique looked away, with what Napoleon took to be embarrassment. “Cheri, I need to go. I’ve got to arrange to pick up your present. Perhaps in a week or so you can meet me for dinner and I can properly thank you?”

“Perhaps, Mon Cher.” Angelique watched as Napoleon turned to go into Del Floria’s. “Napoleon?”

He turned toward her, “Yes? Was there something else?”

“Yes...No..” She sighed and glanced at the ground “Perhaps later.”

Napoleon had a puzzled look on his face as he turned and entered the doorway to the tailor shop.

Angelique slid into the driver’s seat of her sports car. She pounded once on the steering wheel and said, “Oh hell!” and drove away.


	5. Early October

A white Rolls Royce Silver Cloud silently glided through the dark cold evening. Traffic was almost nonexistent so the chauffeur was taking his time. His passenger was a slender young woman, dressed in a black long sleeved top and trousers, black leather gloves, a wide brimmed black hat and a heavy black veil that prevented any clear image of her face. 

Laura Parkhurst gazed out the side window watching the city slide by. She sighed.  
“You can speed up you know, Jacob.” He voice was breathy, soft, almost a whisper.

“I know Miss Parkhurst.” Jacob, her chauffeur smiled. “You’re seldom in a hurry to return to the residence.”

“I’m tired tonight.”

Jacob frowned, and genuine concern seeped into his voice. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine.” Laura suddenly leaned forward her gloved hands pressed against the side window. “Jacob, Stop!”

The elegant car smoothly pulled to the side and stopped near the entrance to an alley. Laura opened the door and started to exit. “Wait, Miss.” Jacob hurriedly exited the car ran over and took her arm. The driver at six-five, towered over the black clad young woman. “What is it?”

“I saw something, in the alley. I think it was an injured person.”

“Oh Miss Parkhurst...you promised Maja and me you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“I have to.” Laura started to slowly walk toward the alley. “Bring a flashlight and a blanket from the trunk.”

“Yes, Miss. Please wait for me.” She stopped. Heaving a resigned sigh Jacob went to the trunk of the Rolls and came back to Laura with a large flashlight in one hand and a wool blanket draped over his shoulder. Together they walked down the trash strewn alley.

The alley smelled of old garbage and urine. It was strewn with trash, piles of cardboard, and overflowing rubbish cans. Jacob and Laura carefully picked out a path through the mess, the flashlight swinging carefully back and forth. Laura pointed to a large pile of cardboard, “There.” As Jacob pointed the light toward the pile a figure scuttled to the side, trying to burrow into the trash. Laura rushed forward and knelt down in the mess. 

She reached out and lifted a piece of cardboard, the flashlights beam revealing a pale face. She looked into frightened blue eyes and noted the grimy blond hair and scraggly beard. “Are you all right?” The man tried to burrow back into the trash.

Jacob bent down and grabbed the figure, pulling him up. The young man hunched, trying to be as small as possible and trembled in fear. The chauffeur shook his head in resignation. “Miss Parkhurst, he’s obviously mentally ill. Perhaps we should just call the authorities.”

“He needs help Jacob. He’s afraid, hungry, cold and barefoot.” She’d noticed his bare feet, almost blue from cold, filthy and bloody. “Let’s get him wrapped in the blanket and we’ll take him home.”

Jacob wrapped the wool blanket about the man and tried to propel him toward the Rolls. He wouldn’t move. “Come on fellow, you can sit on the floor, not on the seat.”

“Jacob. We have to show some kindness.” She took hold of the frightened man’s arm and said “Come on, we’ll get you some help, ok?” The man looked at the woman with a confused and uncomprehending look. He stumbled along as she slowly led him back to the car. “There you go.” she softly whispered as she encouraged him to lie on the floor. Jacob shook his head and muttering to himself the Rolls Royce silently sped away.

A while later the Rolls turned into a private alley that ran alongside, then toward the back of a large five story New York mansion. The building took up the entire block. The alley led to a garage. Stopping before the garage Jacob exited and opened the door for Laura. She was able to encourage the man to come with her. Jacob trotted ahead and opened a back door. He helped Laura get the man inside. 

Jacob entered and walked down a hall that led into a large well appointed kitchen. He tossed his chauffeurs cap on a large old wood table in the center of the room, revealing a bald head. A short plump Hispanic woman entered the kitchen. Jacob gave the woman a kiss on her cheek. “She’s done it again!”

“Oh No!” The woman looked as Laura and the young man came into the kitchen. “What have you done Chica?” 

Laura sat the young man down in a chair at the table. “Maja, he needed help, I can help him.”

“You’re heart is too good.” Maja took the blanket off the man and shook her head as she clucked the tongue. “He needs washing and some dry clothes. Jacob, go see if we have anything that will fit this poor little one, Si?”

“I’ll do it.” Laura answered. “I think some of Tyler’s clothes will fit him. Can you and Jacob get him cleaned up while I go upstairs?”

Jacob waved her away, “Go Miss Laura.”

Laura knowing the man was in good hands left the kitchen. She left the sub basement, where the staff’s quarters and kitchen were and climbed the stairs to the first floor. She walked through the formal dining room where all the furniture was covered in white drop cloths to the mansion’s foyer. 

The foyer was open and looked as if it was in use, She stopped at a table in the foyer and removed her gloves, hat and veil. She looked at her reflection in the huge beveled mirror that hung above the table. She had an extremely pale face, her skin colorless without pigmentation at all. Her long colorless hair was braided and hung down the side of her face to her waist. Her lips were as white as her face and her eyes were of such pale blue as to be almost white the black of her pupils startling. She had long thick white eyelashes that matched her eyebrows. Laura wore no makeup on her sensitive albino skin. Her paleness looked even more stark against her black clothing. Laura smiled at her reflection and stuck out her tongue, “Ghost! Freak!” she hissed, hearing other voices in her memory.

Laura continued into the library where she stopped. Above the fireplace hung a large painting. It showed an elegantly dressed, stern looking, dark haired man with a pencil thin mustache sitting in a throne like chair. Standing next to the older man was a young man. A slender youth with blond hair and blue eyes. His gentle features hinted at a sensitive nature. Laura paused and stared at the painting. “I hope you are burning in hell father.” she whispered.

Laura left the library and continued. She climbed the stairs to the second floor where she entered a bedroom, the furniture covered as well. She dug through a chest of drawers pulling out several articles of clothing. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing these things Tyler.” She murmured. “I miss you so much brother.”

She carried the bundle of clothing back into the kitchen. Jacob and Maja had the young man striped, washed and wrapped in the blanket. He seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Laura handed the bundle to Maja. “I think these old clothes of Tyler’s will fit him. Did he say anything?”

“No Chica not a word.”

Jacob took the clothing and said, “Miss Laura why don’t you go to bed. Maja and I’ll take care of the young man. We’ll get him something to eat and put him in one of the empty servants’ rooms. You need your sleep.”

“I am tired. Thank you, my friends.” She looked at the mystery man and patted his head. “You’ll be safe here,” she whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

***********************************************************************************

Angelique was becoming desperate as she read through a pile of reports. She had her new assistant, the former Santino guard, canvassing nearby neighborhoods where Kuryakin had disappeared. The Russian had been sighted numerous times by locals. People assumed he was homeless and he’d been ignored. She was still no closer to finding the annoying little Russian. She had considered telling Napoleon that his partner was alive and letting him muster the manpower of UNCLE to search for him. She hadn’t though. She wanted the credit of finding and returning him to her sometimes lover, and the goodwill that went along with it.

It seemed that even with his mind altered by Z-7 Kuryakin was a formidable agent. He was able to hide and disappear with ease. Angelique flipped to the next page of last nights report. There had been a Rolls Royce stopped near an alley where he had been seen, and people from the car had gone into the alley with a flashlight. The homeless drunk who had reported this to her man was unable to give any facts other than this. It could be something if the drunk hadn’t been hallucinating. Something to follow up on. She sat the report aside.

***********************************************************************************

Laura Parkhurst smiled as she walked through the empty halls and rooms of her mansion. The mystery man, now dressed in her brother’s clothes shuffled along a few feet behind her. He was slowly improving. He seemed more alert and functional even though he still had not spoken a single word. He seemed attached to Laura and would follow her around the house like a puppy. The only time he didn’t was when Maja, her friend and cook, fed him. He seemed to have a fondness for the small woman’s cooking. He was terrified and intimidated by Jacob. But to be fair most people were. Laura turned and smiled at her silent shadow. “I’ll show you my favorite room, OK?” She opened a door on the first floor and went down several steps. The man followed.

They entered a large atrium filled with plants. A stained glass ceiling let in the October sunlight turning it into shades of red, green and blue. It was like a jungle bathed in a rainbow. The plants were of all sizes, from small to ones climbing almost to the ceiling. In the center of the room a fountain spouted water and a small wrought iron table and chairs stood near it. She switched on a small table lamp adding a bit of diffused light to the room. Laura raised her arms and spun around, “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked in her breathy voice. The man stared around a confused expression on his face. Laura sat down at the table and patted the seat next to her. “Come on, sit down.”

He sat and stared intently at Laura. “OK, my quiet friend. You do seem a little better but I need to find out who you are.” She reached towards his face and he leaned back, out of her reach. “It’s OK. I won’t hurt you. Maja and Jacob told me you were covered in scars. It’s obvious you’ve been hurt, but no one will ever hurt you again. I promise.” Pale white blue eyes stared intently into deep blue eyes. She slowly reached forward and placed her hands gently on either side of his face. He gasped.

Laura could feel the world fade around her. Her mind was filled with a vision of swirling fog. She looked at the young man and almost like a double exposure saw a child of about seven or eight. He was extremely thin, his little face gaunt and pale. His clothing, European in style, was dirty and torn. His pale blond hair was dirty. She could feel his fear. He said something in a strange language and Laura concentrated harder...”Grandma” the child cried. She could see herself through his eyes, again a double exposure overlaid with that of an old woman, white hair, long and braided, dressed in a long black dress. Her wrinkled face as gaunt as the child’s. “Lusha, my little wolf...it’s alright. We will have food maybe tomorrow.” 

Laura watched as the fog swirled again and he saw another woman, younger, dressed in black with blond hair braided and wrapped in a crown about her head. She looked quite like “Lusha”. He sat on her lap, holding her tight crying. The woman double exposed into a stylish modern woman with a mink stole. Lusha cried, “Momma, the soldiers….” His mother patted him and tried to comfort him. “Come, come Illya, you know you have to be brave for Poppa. You are the man of the family.” Laura then saw a car, the stylish woman with a pistol, then a loud sound. The child screamed and ran, bombs bursting into nearby buildings and images of fire and soldiers marching. The child Illya ran and hid in the rubble. He was good at hiding. His Momma and Babushka told him that if he was alone to hide and never let the soldiers see him. He had found many hiding places in the bombed and burned out buildings. He collected books, blankets and whatever else he needed during his daily explorations. The only thing that was hard to find was food. He was always hungry, so hungry.

Laura dropped her hands and leaned back in her chair. Illya seemed to collapse unconscious as if he were a marionette and his strings had be severed. Laura gently placed his head on his crossed arms on the table. “Sleep Illya.” She whispered.

Maja entered with a tray. “I brought tea and two cups Chica. I knew you were going to try to see into his mind when you brought him to the plants. Did you see?”

Laura took the cup of tea Maja handed her. “His name is Illya. He’s lost in his memories Maja. It’s all foggy, like a dream. His past is merged with the present and he can’t seem to wake up. How can I help him?”

Maja shook her head. “I asked the cards last night. They said he was a good man. I drew a knight of swords and then justice. Then I drew the Tower. I think this thing,” she tapped her head, “was done to him. There is danger, to him as well as to all of us.”

“I’m sorry.” Laura whispered. “I’ve brought this problem to our home.”

“Oh my little one.” Maja hugged her. “You are who you are and you could do nothing else. We will keep this Illya and take care of him. The powers will show us the way.”

Laura returned the hug, “They always do Mi Amiga.” Laura looked at Illya. He looked so much like Tyler.


	6. Mid October

Angelique sat in her sports car and stared at the rather imposing mansion. According to the vehicle reports she had from the city this was the registered address for a Rolls Royce, the closest one to the alley where Kuryakin had last been sighted. The Rolls was registered to Parkhurst Industries.

Angelique had done some research at the library and discovered that Parkhurst Industries was a multi-million dollar company that had been owned and run by Reginald Parkhurst a widower with two children. He and his twenty year old son Tyler had been killed fifteen years ago in a car accident. There was no information on his other child.

The mansion looked unoccupied. Angelique clutched her mink coat about her as she left her car and started toward the front door. The cold October wind chilled her as she climbed the marble steps. She pressed the bell and waited.

The door opened and she found herself faced by a very tall bald man in a dark gray suit. “May I help you?” Angelique stared up at the imposing figure. “Yes, I was wondering if the master of the house is in?”

“May I ask your business?”

Angelique smiled. “My name is Angelique La Chien, I’m looking for my brother.” She handed Jacob a photo of Illya. Jacob looked at it and then back at Angelique. “We were on our way home late last month when we had a small car accident no too far from here. My brother is mentally disabled and he panicked after the accident. He ran away before we could stop him. I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

Jacob opened the door and motioned for Angelique to enter. “Please come with me.”

Angelique entered, noting the rich furnishings of the foyer. She smiled, she could definitely see herself living here. As she followed Jacob down the hall she glimpsed into the impressive library and then noted that every other room they passed had all the furnishings covered with white drop clothes. The lived in and silent abandoned feel of the mansion gave her an eerie feeling. 

Jacob opened a door and led the way down a short flight of steps. Angelique found herself in the atrium. The Autumn light shining through the stained glass ceiling painted her white mink coat in shades of red, green and blue. Jacob led her into the plant filled room to a table near a bubbling fountain. A young very pale woman, dressed entirely in black was feeding Illya Kuryakin who sat next to her. “Miss Parkhurst.” Jacob handed her the photo. “This woman is looking for her brother.” he nodded toward Illya. The THRUSH agent rushed toward Illya and put her arms around him “Oh Nicky! We’ve been so worried about you!” Illya ignored her staring intently at the bowl of stew that Laura had been feeding him.

Laura stood and held out her hand. “Laura Parkhurst” she waited for Angelique to shake her hand. Angelique saw that the woman was an albino, startled she hesitated. She finally reached out and took Laura’s hand. “Angelique La Chien.” 

Laura sat down and indicated a chair next to Illya. “Please sit.”

Angelique shook her head, “No, I just want to get dear Nicky home. He should see a doctor. I do appreciate that you found him and have been taking good care of him. I would be more than happy to compensate you, however we must be going.”

Laura raised her eyebrows at Jacob and nodded slightly at the chair. The large man grabbed Angelique’s shoulders and pushed her into the chair. Angelique swore and tried to strike Jacob. She struggled and reached into her purse. Jacob grabbed her purse, opened it and took out her pistol. He dropped her purse to the ground and took a step back, pistol pointed at the blond woman. “That wasn’t very nice, darling.” she glared at Laura. 

Laura studied the woman. “Who are you really? What do you want with Illya?”

Angelique was startled that the young woman knew Illya’s name. “Did he tell you his name? I didn’t think he could talk.”

“He doesn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“His mother told me. I know you are involved with whatever happened to him. You killed someone that caused a car wreck.”

Angelique “I think you are imagining things little girl. You don’t know what you are getting involved in.” She tried to stand again. Jacob reached forward and pushed her back into the chair.

Laura laughed, “Neither do you.” she whispered. 

Laura reached forward to place her hands on either side of Angelique’s face. Angelique jerked back but Jacob stopped her as Laura continued. The THRUSH agent froze and her eyes widened.

Images of mayhem, shootings, torture, blood and sex flashed through Laura’s mind like a film played in double speed. Laura saw flashes of Illya, bearded and sitting on a bed. She saw a handsome dark haired man obviously involved with the woman. Angelique seemed to be very fond of the dark one but Illya seemed to cause her heartburn. Laura felt the woman’s disgust at shaking her hand and saw her thoughts of making the mansion and the Parkhurst fortune her own.

Laura sat back as Angelique slumped forward in her chair. She looked up at Jacob.   
“This one is evil.” She patted Illya’s hand as she stood. “Everything is alright my friend. You have nothing to worry about.” Laura would protect Illya from this woman and her dark haired lover. 

“What do you want me to do with her?” Jacob asked.

“We need to put her in her car and drive her away from here. When she wakes up she won’t remember being here or any of us.”

Jacob frowned, “Are you sure you needed to do that?”

“Very” Laura whispered.


	7. Late October

Napoleon hurried into the Oak Room at the Plaza Hotel. He had received a call from Angelique to meet her for lunch. As he entered he could see the lovely blond sitting in a corner, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket near her and a plate with caviar and toast.

She smiled at him as he snuggled into the booth with her. “Hello darling.” She poured some champagne into a waiting glass. 

Napoleon kissed her on the cheek and took a sip of his wine. “I want to thank you again for your help with Santino.”

Angelique looked confused. “Santino? Who are you talking about?”

Napoleon tilted his head in confusion. “OK, I suppose you can’t admit you helped me. But I do appreciate it, more than you know.”

Angelique huffed. “Darling, are you trying to confuse me?”

“All right beautiful, we’ll just agree to let it go. I understand.”

Angelique rolled her eyes in exasperation then looked around the restaurant “So good looking, where is that horrid little partner of yours? He’s always lurking around somewhere.”

Napoleon sucked in his breath and his voice became very sharp and hard “If this is your idea of wit Angelique, I don’t appreciate it at all!”

“I don’t understand Darling. The first time I see you in six months and you practically yell at me.” She huffed “I may just leave.” She stood up. Napoleon grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Six months? We saw each other just a couple of weeks ago.”

Angelique sat and she turned pale. “Oh no.” she moaned.

“Angelique?”

“Something happened.” She leaned forward and started to whisper “I woke up in my car a while ago. A cop was banging on my window saying I couldn’t sleep there and asked if I had been drinking.”

“Had you?”

“No. I didn’t know how I’d gotten there. I went home and there was a man in my apartment who apparently worked for me. He asked if I had found what I was looking for, so I said no.”

“What had you been looking for?”

“I don’t know, and it seems as if I’ve lost quite a bit of time. I’m afraid something has happened to me.” She leaned back in her chair, “I’m afraid. I think someone in Central is trying to discredit me.”

“You don’t remember that Illya was killed? You don’t remember that you found and killed Michael Santino the bastard that did it?”

“Oh Napoleon, I’m so sorry. No I honestly don’t remember.”

“You told me Santino was involved in the Z-7 project. Maybe that has something to do with you memory loss. Our chemists worked on the formula and determined that it wouldn’t work. In fact it would have negative consequences such as memory loss, amnesia and paranoia.”

“I checked and couldn’t see any signs that I’d been injected with any thing.”

“I don’t know what to tell you sweetheart.”

“I’m going to leave the city, perhaps go to Europe for a while and disappear.” Angelique poured more champagne, “Before I leave though perhaps you can help me take my mind off my problem? Please?”

“My pleasure.” He smiled.

**********************************************************************************

Seven year old Illya silently stole through the bombed out mansion. This building had become his favorite hiding place. One of the collapsed rooms had a perfect spot where he could curl up and sleep safe from the soldiers and other survivors who roamed the city. He kept his distance from everyone, never trusting anyone. He had been able to scrounge some food from an untouched kitchen and hid his stolen bounty in his secret place. He would dream of his Grandmother and have conversations with her. It helped keep the terror away.

***********************************************************************************

Laura entered the kitchen. Maja and Jacob were sitting at the old table, drinking coffee. Maja looked up and smiled at the young woman. “Oh Chica, come sit.”

Laura sat and accepted a cup. “Good morning my friends.”

“I read the cards again last night. I asked about Illya.”

“What did they say?”

“I drew the eight of wands first.”

Laura sipped her coffee, “Hopes, dreams, fears and travel, sudden travel.”

“Perhaps my little one, but then I drew the six of swords.”

“Two people on a boat, traveling on a calm sea? Travel away from difficulty or danger, a solution to current problems.”

“Yes. Then the seven of cups.”

“Facing a spiritual truth?”

“Si, I think you must face the fact that Illya can never be your lost brother Mr. Tyler.”

Laura put her cup down “I know he’s not Tyler!” she whispered, even though she wanted him to be.

Jacob shook his head, “You know Miss Laura that the past five people you have helped have been young blond men, just like your brother.”

“I know, I just seem to find them. It’s not deliberate! It’s as if I’m being guided to them.”

Maja patted her hand, “Si, we know that. The cards also say that Illya needs to go to where he belongs. You know this is true.”

“Yes. I just don’t know where that is!” She looked around the kitchen. “By the way, where is he?”

“He’s not with you?” Jacob asked.

“No, I haven’t seen him. I thought he was in here with Maja getting his breakfast.”

Maja suddenly stood, her hands on her head, “They need you now!” she hissed.

The three ran from the kitchen up the stairs into the foyer.

Hearing a moan in the library they rushed in and came to a sudden stop. Illya was kneeling in front of the fireplace, his arms at his side, head thrown back. The muscles in his neck were corded and strained. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth open in a soundless scream.

Maja held her arms out to prevent Laura and Jacob from moving closer. “No, we must not touch him. Chica, call him.”

Laura knelt down and softly called, “Illya?”

“No, no Miss Laura, call Tyler!”

“Tyler?”

A voice came from Illya’s throat. It was a man’s voice, unaccented, young. “Hey Sissy!”

Laura’s hands flew to her face, “Oh my God! Tyler?” 

“Sissy? Can you hear me?”

Maja crossed herself and Jacob put his arms around the old woman.

“Yes, Tyler. I can hear you. I miss you so much!” she cried, tears ran down her face.

“You don’t need to look for me. I’m here now, I’ll always be with you.”

“You died. Your body was never found.”

“I’m fine. I keep finding my way home.”

“Is Father with you?” Her voice was angry. “It’s his fault you are dead.”

“He’s not here. He’s gone. I never wanted to leave you. I’ll always be with you.”

“Oh Tyler.” She sobbed.

“Be happy, Sissy. I love….” Illya collapsed. Laura rushed forward and gathered Illya in her arms. “Oh my sweet Tyler!”

Maja crossed herself again and looked at Jacob and whispered, “Mr. Illya channeled Tyler.”

***********************************************************************************

Illya laid curled asleep under a huge ivy plant in the Atrium. He had taken to sleeping there with a pilfered blanket and a bundle of food that Maja would leave out on the kitchen counter for him to steal. Laura sat and watched him. She was still disturbed from hearing her dead brother’s voice coming from this lost soul’s throat.

Laura crawled under the ivy and snuggled up to Illya. He moaned in his sleep as she pulled him into her arms and cradled his head on her shoulder. She gently placed her hand on the side of his face and concentrated.

Laura saw her father driving, yelling at Tyler. “I’ve told you a hundred times boy, stay away from that freak!” Tyler yelled back “She’s not a freak, Laura is my sister, your daughter. I love her!” Her father backhanded Tyler across his face, enraged, losing control of the car. Tyler felt as if he was flying as the car flew over a guardrail and dropped into an icy river. The water filled the car and Tyler’s vision faded. Tyler’s voice filled her mind. “I would do it again Sissy. Father blamed you for Mom’s death. Your umbilical cord was strangling you and you were born early. Mom died. I’ve tried to find you so many times. I’m home now. I’ll always be with you. I’ll never leave.” Laura saw fog again and seven year old Illya wandering in the dark. He was afraid and lost. He started to cry and began running unable to find his way out of the fog.

Laura sighed and left Illya. She got to her feet and turned to sit at the table, startled to find Maja sitting there watching her. “So Chica, Your brother Tyler is speaking through Mr. Illya?”

“Yes. He said he’s home now.”

“And you are happy, Si?”

“Yes.”

Maja nodded. “Ah, having the power is a hard gift. Mr. Tyler has found you but you know he needs to continue his journey, he does not belong here now among the living.”

Laura looked back at Illya. “He looks so much like Tyler. I need him, I always have.”

“Si, you have your brother, but what about Mr. Illya?”

“Yes, what about Mr. Illya” Laura whispered.


	8. October 25th

Napoleon put a bottle of wine on the table. His date was due at his apartment in just a few minutes. He had a pan of lasagna from Papa Tino’s heating in the oven, a salad cooling in the fridge and tiramisu for dessert. All he was missing was his date. His first one in what seemed like ages.

The phone rang. He felt his heart drop, fearing that she had to cancel, but also slightly relieved. “Hello?”

“Napoleon dear.”

“Aunt Amy! How’s my favorite girl?”

“Just fine dear boy.” Napoleon could hear the smile in his Aunt’s voice.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I want you to come to my Halloween party, and I’m not going to accept a no for an answer. I haven’t seen you for ages.”

“I don’t know Amy, I’ve not really felt up to much socializing lately.”

“I know dear. I know you are still hurting from losing your friend, but I think it would be good for you to get out. The party is for a good cause, it’s a fundraiser for one of my charities.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll send my car for you. You only have to stay for a short while.”

“Ok, if I don’t have to work I’ll come. No need to send your car, I’ll grab a taxi. You know I could never say no to you Aunt Amy. But I’ll only stay for a bit.”

“Oh, fabulous! See you on Halloween!”


	9. Halloween

Napoleon dapper in his tux, a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm rang the bell at his Aunt Amy’s penthouse. Giles her butler answered and smiled as Napoleon entered. “Miss Amy will be so happy you made it Mr. Napoleon.”

“I can’t disappoint my Amy, now can I?” 

He entered and nodded to a few of Amy’s friends that he recognized. Everyone was in costume and her penthouse glittered with the trappings of the holiday. Spiderwebs, pumpkins and orange and black candles sparkled about the room. Waiters dressed as pirates wound their way among the guests offering champagne and Halloween themed finger food. Amy knew how to host a party. The wealthy and elite of New York City were there. No one wanted to miss an Amy Solo party.

Napoleon held out his arms as his Aunt rushed forward to greet him. “Oh Napoleon dear! Where’s your costume? I’m so glad you came!”

Napoleon hugged her then held her at arm’s length. “Oh, Cleopatra. How appropriate. The most beautiful woman here!” He handed her the champagne.

“Oh you didn’t need to bring anything dear, and again, where is your costumer? It is Halloween!”

“I’m wearing it. I’m a secret agent!” He held his jacket open a moment giving his Aunt a brief view of his special.

“How charming. Are you that British spy in the movies?”

“Of course” he raised one eyebrow and intoned, “Solo, Napoleon Solo!” 

Amy laughed delightedly. “You always know how to make me laugh. So be a good boy now and go charm all the ladies. I’ll talk to you later.” She patted her nephew on his arm as she went to greet some more arrivals.

Napoleon took a glass of bubbly from the tray of a passing pirate and worked his way to a less crowded portion of his Aunt’s lavish penthouse. He had no intention of staying very long. He just wanted to make Amy happy then return home and be alone. His social life had taken a downward turn since Illya was killed. He knew he had to snap out of it but he hadn’t been able to quite yet.

A half an hour later Amy approached Napoleon and slipped her arm under his and walked him toward the closed door of her library. “Now, listen dear boy, I want you to go and have your fortune told by Madame Zora.”

“My fortune?”

“Of course. For Halloween. Madame Zora will tell your fortune, let you know what your future holds. Give her a donation and she will match however much she makes this evening as a contribution to my favorite charity.”

“Trust me, my dear Cleopatra, my future is the last thing I want to know.” He snorted, “Besides I’m afraid I don’t have the funds to make a donation! What poor friend did you coerce into playing fortune teller for you?

Amy reached into her bosom and pulled out two one hundred dollar bills. She put the bills into Napoleon’s pocket. “There you go.”

“I can’t take your money!”

“Nonsense, it’s going to my charity and Madame Zora will match the contribution.”

Shaking his head Napoleon sighed, “OK darling, but tell me who I’m really going to see?”

“Oh, a young woman I’ve known since she was a child, Laura Parkhurst. She’s the heiress of Parkhurst Industries.”

Amy guided Napoleon toward the library door. “Now, there’s someone in with Madame Zora now. As soon as they leave you go in and get your fortune.”

“Right. I’ll be good and go play.”

“Darling, she may not be named Madame Zora, but Miss Parkhurst really is a psychic. She’s the real thing, always has been.” Amy kissed Napoleon on the cheek and left to visit with another guest.

He sat down and waited for his turn with Amy’s fortune teller. A woman dressed as a Marie Antoinette tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. Napoleon stood and bowed, “Your majesty.”

She giggled, and bowed her head. “So, are you waiting a turn to see Madame Zora?”

“I guess I am.”

“You’ll just love her. She’s amazing. She knew things that she couldn’t possibly know.” Marie left with a wave, following a pirate trying to get another drink.

The door to the library opened and an obviously upset King Henry left muttering under his breath. Napoleon stood and entered the room shutting the door behind him. All the lights were off. A single lit candle sat on the desk illuminating a dark veiled figure. The figure silently gestured to a chair in front of the desk.

Napoleon laughed, and strode up to the desk. He took the bills his Aunt had given him and dropped them in a crystal bowl filled with money and checks that was next to the candle. “Donation for the charity. You can forgo the act.”

Laura sat back, startled. She had recognized the man as soon as he entered the room. It was the dark man that had been involved with the evil blond woman. She needed to keep this one from her Illya from Tyler. She reached up and turned her veil back, exposing her pale face. She laughed, and whispered “I do so love skeptics.”

Napoleon was startled with her looks, but also captivated as she was quite beautiful. “My Aunt Amy said I’d enjoy getting my fortune told. I told her that knowing my future was the last thing I wanted.”

“Amy Solo is your Aunt?”

He held out his hand. “Napoleon Solo.”

She took his hand “Laura Parkhurst, also Madame Zora.” Napoleon blinked as he felt a wave of dizziness.

Laura saw flashes of a building, long gray halls filled with people. She saw Napoleon and a blond man. The man looked a bit like Illya, though he was clean shaven, heavier, perhaps older. She then felt terrible, terrible grief and despair. She saw Napoleon at a memorial service, then sitting in a dark room, a pistol in his hand and felt his urge to put the gun to his temple and pull the trigger. She saw a bouquet of black roses and blood. 

“You’ve recently lost someone important to you?”

Napoleon jerked his hand back. “Amy told you that.”

“No.” Laura held her hands out. “Give me your hands again.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Afraid? Most people are you know.”

“I’m not most people.” He reached out and took Laura’s hands and felt the slight dizziness again.

Laura concentrated. “It was someone you worked with. He was killed, his throat cut. You asked an adversary to help you, a woman.” Laura dropped Napoleon’s hands as she saw Angelique in his mind but was confused by the images of the blond man and the grief that Napoleon was feeling for his co-worker that had been killed. She had the impression it was her Illya he was grieving for but that was impossible he was alive, in her care, and he looked so different.

“How could you possibly know that?” Napoleon stood and stared down at Laura.

Laura felt her heart break. 

“I think I might have something of interest to show you. Perhaps you can solve a mystery as well. You will have to come with me to my home after the party.” Laura’s voice was sad and resigned as pulled her veil back down. Were Maja’s cards correct?


	10. Near Midnight

Jacob drove the Rolls Royce through the almost empty New York streets. Napoleon sat next to Laura Parkhurst. He had waited until the end of the party and agreed to accompany the pale young woman to her house. She had refused to answer any of his questions. Amy had assured him that she had known Laura Parkhurst since she was a child and that she was a good and trusted friend.

The Rolls silently sped through the night. Laura sighed, staring straight ahead, she began talking in her soft voice. “My mother died giving birth to me.” She looked down at her hands. “My father blamed me, the freak. He decided I didn’t exist. I was a ghost to him.”

Laura chuckled, “For a long time I thought freak and ghost was my name. Maja our cook and Jacob” she nodded toward her driver “became my caregivers. They were the ones who raised me.”

“And loved you!” Jacob added.

“You had no one else?” Napoleon asked.

“My older brother Tyler loved me. He wasn’t allowed to see me or play with me but he’d sneak down to the basement whenever he could get away from our father. Father was a monster.”

Laura fell silent and stared out the window.

Jacob continued the story. “One evening Mister Parkhurst returned from his office to discover Master Tyler was playing with Miss Laura. He became enraged and took Master Tyler and drove away intending to enroll him in a boarding school in upstate New York. He had been driving for hours. Exhausted, he lost control of the car, it went over a bridge into a river. They were both killed. Master Tyler’s body was never recovered.”

Laura continued. “As the only living descendant, and after a long court battle I inherited the business and fortune. Father never wanted to admit I was a Parkhurst. Thankfully I had Jacob and Maja on my side.”

The rolls pulled into the private alley and parked. Jacob opened the door for Laura and Napoleon. Entering the kitchen Laura introduced Napoleon to Maja who had waited up for her, then led him up the stairs to the foyer into the library. She stopped in front of the painting of her Father and brother Tyler. She pointed at it. “I had a dream that Tyler was alive somewhere out there. I always look for him whenever I go out. I knew he was trying to find his way home. He recently did, in a way.”

Napoleon studied the image of the young blond man, he had a slight resemblance to Illya. 

Laura looked at Napoleon, “I want you to understand. If I’m correct I don’t want you to become angry. I didn’t have any ulterior motives. I only wanted to help. He looks so much like Tyler.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Come with me.” She led the way into the atrium. “Stop here.” she pointed to the fountain. She turned on a small lamp on the table. She pointed to an area near the wall overgrown with ivy creating a cave like area. Napoleon saw a man curled up on a blanket, his back to them. “He likes to sleep there. He hides from the German soldiers. He feels safe.”

She pulled her veil up over her head like a scarf and leaned over. “Ilusha?” Napoleon gasped as the figure turned over. A bearded, painfully thin and scraggly haired Illya crawled out and hugged Laura. She gently patted him on his back. “Is this who you lost?”

Napoleon gasped and felt tears running down his face. “Oh God! Illya! My partner, my best friend!” He rushed forward to greet him. Illya cringed and jerked away trying to scrabble back into the ivy cave. “Don’t come near him.” Laura hissed. “He sees you as a soldier. He’s afraid you’re going to kill him.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s stuck in his memories. I think he’s about seven.”

“He would have been in the Ukraine then. It was World War Two during the Nazi occupation.”

“I didn’t know for sure. He sees me as his Grandmother. I think it’s the white hair.”

“I need to get him to our headquarters. If he was injected with a drug we know about he might act the way he is. We have the antidote for the drug if that’s what was used on him.”

Suddenly Illya dropped to his knees and arched his upper body. He threw his head back, throat bulging, his mouth opened. Tyler’s voice came from his throat “Sissy?  
Where are you? Sissy?”

Napoleon stumbled back, “What the hell! What’s happening?”

Laura dropped to her knees by Illya, “I’m here Tyler.”

“Send him away, he’s like father. He wants to keep us apart.”

“No Tyler. The man you are speaking through is his friend.”

“I am here. I’ll always be here.”

Laura had tears running down her cheeks, “Tyler, I’m OK.” She sobbed, “You need to go. You don’t belong here anymore.”

Napoleon started as Maja brushed past him and stood behind Laura, her hands on the young woman’s shaking shoulders. Maja’s voice rang out “Mr. Tyler, you need to go into the light and find your mother. You have to continue your journey.”

“Sissy?”

“Go Tyler,” Laura sobbed, “Go and wait for me. We’ll be together eventually. I love you!”

“No Sissy, I need to stay with you. Protect you.”

Maja stepped forward and grabbed Illya by the shoulders. The small woman shook Illya and yelled, “No Master Tyler, go into the light! You need to let go, I will protect your sister. GO NOW!”

Tyler’s voice seemed to fade, “Sissy? It’s so bright. Sissy? I love….”

Illya collapsed. Maja let him slide to the floor as she turned and hugged the sobbing woman. Napoleon rushed forward and gathered his partner in his arms.


	11. Epilogue

Illya felt himself slowly become aware. He was in a dark room, but he instantly recognized UNCLE medical. He could tell by the subtle familiar noises and the antiseptic smell. He had no idea why he was here. He did a mental self examination and realized that he had no injuries. He was tired and he had a very muzzy feeling that came from THRUSH drugs. He reached up to scratch an itch on his face and was surprised to discover he had a beard, at least a months worth of growth. He tried to find the call button but dizzy and unstable he knocked it onto the floor.

The noise woke Napoleon who had been sleeping in a recliner against the wall. “Tovarisch?”

“Poleon” Illya was dismayed that his voice was raspy and hoarse almost like he’d not used it for a long time. “Wha’appened?”

Napoleon switched on a light and stood smiling at his partner. “What do you remember?” He handed Illya a glass of water. He gratefully took a long sip.

“Home from’rope. Pic’up summ Chinese nn’a Stoli. Lozz of dreams ‘bout….”

“About being a child during the war?”

Illya looked uncomfortable. “Da, a car go’n offa bridge, drown. White wom’n. Wha ‘appened t’me?” he slurred.

“It’s November partner.”

“Vember!” Illya yawned.

“I’ll explain after you’ve gotten some more sleep, I promise.” He leaned over and gave his startled partner a hug. “I’m so glad you aren’t dead!”

“M’too.” Illya shook his head “Poleon, m’fused.”

“I know, go to sleep I’ll see you tomorrow. Everything is OK.”

Illya shut his eyes as Napoleon turned off the light. His heart and mind were feeling light for the first time since Mid-September. He smiled once more at his sleepy and confused partner and left the room, wondering just how he could explain the past several weeks.

In the hallway Laura Parkhurst stood waiting. Napoleon walked up to her “Do you want to see him? Meet the real Illya?”

Laura shook her head, “No.” Tears ran down her pale cheeks as she turned to go, walking toward Jacob and their Section Three escort who silently waited for her by the elevator. 

Napoleon could sense the pain of loss coming from the young woman. The feelings were almost a palpable wave. He mused that they had in a way changed positions. Laura Parkhurst had found her brother but now had lost him. After his long weeks of grief and loss he had finally found his.

Napoleon turned and went back into Illya’s room.


End file.
